


as we lie in fields of gold

by hahnaissance



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, WandaVision (TV)
Genre: F/F, not a capital letter in sight, rating will def change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-19 04:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29993709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hahnaissance/pseuds/hahnaissance
Summary: you remember her last words to you, whispered into your mind so faintly you thought you'd imagined it. "westview," she'd said, "hurry."
Relationships: Agatha Harkness/Reader, Agnes (WandaVision)/Reader
Comments: 26
Kudos: 145





	1. she called to me, and so i followed

**Author's Note:**

> yes the title's from a sting song. bear with me here.

something’s _wrong_.

you can feel it in the air the instant you appear in the field, materializing in a flash of gold. the _magic_ , and the _pain_ , and the sense of a collective trauma so great it nearly brings you to your knees. there's grief and there's fear and there's **power**. _well,_ at least you know you're in the right place. and so you push on, following the magical signature toward the town in the distance. as you walk, you pass a sign that seems to flicker in and out of existence.

_welcome to westview!_

_westview_

you remember her last words to you, _whispered_ into your mind so faintly you thought you'd imagined it. _westview_ , she'd said, _**hurry**_. you're confused at first, if a bit annoyed. she hadn't bothered to contact you for weeks, and the first thing she says to you is the name of some town? not that you'd been worried at first. you two had spent months, sometimes years apart – but you always came back to each other. and you always kept in touch. and _that's_ when worry began to set in. you'd tried to reach out to her, your magic straining to connect with hers, but in that instant, your connection was severed so _abruptly_ that you're left _breathless_.

for the first time in centuries, you felt empty. cold. for as long as you could remember, her presence was always there, fluttering at the edge of your consciousness (and yours in hers). it was a comfort, knowing she was there, knowing she was safe, wherever her travels sent her. but now, it was like you were _alone_ , for the first time in centuries. like you were before her.

as staggering it was to be without her, it forced you toward a realization. in the hours before that frantic message, her presence had felt different, more _chaotic_ , less in control. you'd tried to reach out to her, but she had blocked you. you had been somewhat offended initially, and thought that if she didn't need your help, then so be it. she was a grown up witch, she could _handle herself,_ as she so often said. so you'd left her alone. but you _wished_ you hadn't. _now_ , you knew that she was trying to protect you, from whatever had scared her so terribly that she'd used her last bit of strength to reach out to you from whatever situation she'd found herself in.

at that thought, guilt overwhelmed you, that you had been content to leave her to her own devices, rather than breaking through her barriers and helping her whether she liked it or not. she was always too proud for her own good. _your hubris will be your downfall_ , you'd once told her in a moment of anger. oh, how you _wished_ you could take back those words. you were too late to help her, and if something terrible has happened to her, you'll never forgive yourself.

so you set off; a quick search tells you that westview is a town in new jersey, recently in the news for strange (and some said _magical_ ) happenings. and you'd smiled then, despite yourself. it was just like her to get wrapped up in some shenanigan or another. _goddess, you missed her._ you closed your eyes, focused on westview (and on her), and disappeared in a shower of golden light.

_welcome to westview!_

so _this_ is westview. on the surface it doesn't look like much, just an average town – perhaps one that has fallen on some hard times. there's graffiti on the sides of buildings, litter tumbles through the streets, windows are boarded up and doors nailed shut. but you can _feel_ the magic in the air, that cloying presence that can only accompany chaos magic. it pulls you in, as chaos magic does, and spurs you on further into the town. you've only been in westview for mere minutes, and your worry for her only grows the more time you spend here.

passersby eye you warily, and you realize that you're dressed, well, _like a witch._ ducking behind a building, you wave your hand, and suddenly appear more _normal_ looking. it's not your preferred sense of style, but it'll have to do. as you venture into the town center, the cast of characters start to appear a bit more hostile. one couple crosses the street to avoid you when you approach, a mother grabs her daughter's hand and rushes past you with a glare. _what happened here,_ you wonder, and _where is she?_

you stop in the center of town, seemingly the nexus of this chaos magic you can still feel pricking at your skin. you close your eyes and stand there on the grass, letting your mind clear and setting your magic free, as you search for any trace of her. nothing, not one indication of her presence. you begin to grow disheartened, before – _there!_ a wisp of purple, tinged with black. it's only a faint trace, but you'd know her magic anywhere. you try to latch on to it with your own magic, golden light encircling violet, but as quickly as the wisp appears – it dissipates. and you can see nothing but the scarlet glow of chaos magic, humming and pulsing and devouring everything in its wake. you stand there, struck by confusion and disappointment and guilt. have you missed her? had she escaped, and run off without letting you know that she's alright? or was she –

"hiya hon!" the voice startles you from your macabre thoughts, and your eyes snap open. it's a familiar voice, one that has been known to make your heart skip a beat. but something's different; there's an unfamiliar lilt, and it's too ... cheery.

"say, i don't think i've seen you around before. i sure would remember someone as gorgeous as you, sugarplum."

your eyes travel upward, from the sensible shoes, to the outfit that practically screams repressed suburbanite, to that too-wide unwavering smile. but it's her eyes that shock you, it's her eyes that send chills down your spine. her eyes are screaming.

"agatha?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's chapter one done! i hope y'all enjoyed, or are interested in seeing me continue this, or something idk! come yell @ me about agatha on twitter @rumoursspiral x


	2. i've never made promises lightly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you know she can’t hear you, but you promise to her and to the goddess above, that you're going to save her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter already? it's more likely than you'd think.

"agatha?"

it's _her_ , and your breath catches in your throat at the sight of her. you take a moment to just _look_ at her – though it's been mere weeks since you last saw her, it's felt like much longer. you breathe a sigh of relief, reassured to know that she's alive. but she's _different_ , she's not herself. she's dressed like some suburban housewife, with that plastic smile affixed to her features, with unblinking eyes.

it's strange, and it's disconcerting. but she's _here_ , and she's _alive_ , albeit stuck in some sort of strange spell. but you **know** it's her, and you know it's her because you can feel her, can sense the faint thrum of her magic as it strains to reach out to yours. she's trapped, somehow, in this sickly sweet façade of a sitcom character. it's a memory spell (it has to be) – you can see the red tendrils of chaos magic pulling at the fabric of reality around her, distorting her memories and perception of herself. forcing her to play the role of some nosey neighbor.

but her eyes have remained unaffected by the spell, and you find yourself gazing into their cerulean depths, unable to look away. you're horrified by what you see; she's _haunted_ , she's _restless_ , like a wild animal stuck in a too-small cage. and it nearly brings tears to your eyes to see the woman you love, the strongest witch you've ever known rendered powerless and afraid. you know she can’t hear you, but you promise to her and to the goddess above, that you're going to save her.

but it's going to be a laborious process, and you wouldn't know where to start. it seems that she's entangled in this alternate reality, and the tendrils of chaos magic have wound so tightly around her you're afraid that if you _pull_ , you'll only tangle her deeper.

"my name is agnes, dear. but _you_ can call me whatever you like, as long as you don't call me late for dinner."

"oh, i’m so sorry," you say, feigning embarrassment, "you look just like someone i know. i'm _theodora_ ," you introduce yourself, with the faint hope that your name will spark some recognition, some awareness in those tormented eyes of hers. for a moment, recognition does alight on her features – the slight furrowing of her brow and pursing of her lips. your heart fills with a fleeting hope, but it's quickly quashed when the moment passes, and her features smooth out.

she’ll repeat your name, but it sounds _wrong_ in agnes' voice. "what a beautiful name – for a beautiful gal." she accompanies the compliment with a wink, and you have to fight urge to roll your eyes. even without her memories of her true self, or of you, she's still a shameless flirt – though these quips lack her usual teasing nature. 

"are you new to westview, doll? it’s not every day that we see a new face around here. in fact, folks seem to be leaving westview as fast as their legs can carry 'em."

at her words, you can see a family of four, hurriedly packing up their car. the parents send you and ~~agatha~~ agnes a furtive, (if pitying) look before speeding away. whatever happened here (and you’re still not certain of the details), it has driven the townsfolk to leave westview in droves. but not agatha, or rather, _agnes_. she's here to stay, she's _stuck_ here – but you're here to set her free.

"hon?" her voice snaps you back to reality, and you rush to think of something to say.

"yep, just moved here today," you respond, trying to make up a story as you go, "i just – needed a change of scenery. the city’s great, but it can get overwhelming, you know?"

if agatha were here, she’d laugh at your pathetic attempt to lie to her. you'd always been a wonderful storyteller, and more than competent liar, but never to her. you'd always said that whenever she looked at you, it felt like she was staring into your soul, and you could never bring yourself to lie to her. but agatha isn't here, not herself anymore, and agnes just nods and smiles like she understands.

"oh i know how that is," cue a laugh that goes on for a little longer than it should, "well, i for one am glad you’re here. it’s been awful lonely around here lately, what since the divorce, and since wanda and her family moved away..."

and just for a moment, you can see the facade crack, and some true emotion seep out from that stepford-esque façade. it lasts only for a moment, before the mask is back up, and she's back to that perky persona.

"say, i was just about to head home and make myself some fresh lemonade. would you like to join me? it'll be our own little welcome to the neighborhood party, since it seems that welcome wagon is getting smaller and smaller these days."

"sure," you'll agree, trying to match her smile, though it turns out as more of a grimace. you suppose you should try playing along with whatever magic is at play here, try to become friendly with this alternate version of your wife. you _hope_ that the more time you spend with her, and around the magic holding her captive, you'll figure out a way

and if she still has the darkhold hidden away somewhere, well that would make it all the more easier.

she beams at you again, and you wonder if hurts, to smile all the time. can she control it? does she have any power over her actions? or is she just a mere puppet, fully controlled by the forces of chaos?

"perfect! oh this is gonna be a gas! i’m just this way, doll, we'll be there before you know it."

she rests a hand on your lower back to guide you in the right direction, and for a brief moment (if you close your eyes) you can pretend that everything is alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> agatha really said wanda may take my magic and my memories, but she will not take my lesbianism and love for my wife and i think that's beautiful x


	3. you'll remember me (when the west wind moves)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "stay!" she blurts, and then looks confused at the outburst as if she hadn't meant to say it. is this agatha, breaking through? you don't yet get your hopes up, but can't help but wonder if this is a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> something a little longer this time. hope y’all enjoy!

you’re seated on agnes’ couch, sipping lemonade from a tall glass. she'd chattered on the whole way there, pointing out different landmarks as she went; _oh, there's the general store, and the ice cream parlor, and there's sarah's house – she's just moved away, poor thing._ you'd feigned interest, _mhming_ and _ahhing_ all the way, distracted by the way she'd linked her arm with yours, by the press of your sides together. it **would** be nice, being so close to her after so long apart – if it were _agatha_ standing so close to you, and not this spelled stranger hijacking your wife's body.

and so you're quiet, allowing her to drive the conversation, observing and searching for any _fragment_ of agatha that may rise to the surface. but that doesn’t seem to bother her, as she talks enough for the both of you. sitting there on her settee, she regales you with tales of westview's residents, of their trials and tribulations, of their day to day activities. she also spends a considerable amount of time complaining about an ex-husband named ralph, who you _hope_ is just a figment of her falsified reality, and not a _real_ person.

you smile and nod along, and you can't help but be _impressed_ by whoever cast this spell – the details and depth of storylines was truly impressive. part of you would love to meet the powerful witch who cast the spell and ask them just how they managed all this – but not before you cursed them into next week for what they'd done to agatha.

"enough about me," she'll say suddenly, as if just realizing she's been going on for far too long, "tell me about _you_." she places a gentle hand on your arm, giving it an encouraging squeeze.

you're struck by the relative normalcy of this scene – the two of you sitting side by side on the couch, passing the day away talking about everything and nothing. if this were a normal day, you'd be wrapped in her arms, gently playing with her hair as she read aloud from one spellbook or another. but it's _not_ a normal afternoon in your cottage, and the woman staring at you with the wide blue eyes is _not_ your love.

"oh well, there's not much to say, really. i used to live in the city, like i said before, but it was starting to be a bit too much for me. i needed a change, and so i decided to move here," you'll say with a shrug, wanting to keep your manufactured backstory as brief as you can.

"there has to be more than that, dove. didya come here all alone, or is there a mister theodora i haven't met yet? how about a missus?"

you'll shake your head no, a small smile playing on your lips. it's only been her. it's only _ever_ been her, ever since you were young; sneaking away from the rest of the coven for midnight trysts under the light of the harvest moon, reading forbidden tomes by candlelight, stealing kisses in the garden. sure, you've had your fights – over three hundred years spent together and you're bound to get on each other's nerves. you vividly recall one particularly volatile period in the early 1900s when you didn't speak to each other for nearly five years. but you always come back to each other in the end. even now, _especially now._

at your words, agnes looks to you in shock, "well color me surprised, doll. i would've thought that a looker like you would have suitors just falling over each other to get to you." a blush rises to your cheeks despite yourself. _that damned flirt_.

you pass the afternoon talking: her sharing little facts about the town or its residents, and you asking vague questions about her old life, trying to force the real agatha to remember _something_ about her real self. you're failing miserably – it's rather difficult to drop the topic of witchcraft into casual conversation with someone who believes that you are nothing more than a children's fairytale. whatever spell this was, it had her locked up tight.

she invites you to stay for dinner, and it startles you to see her looking so demure and domestic, bustling around the kitchen whistling a tune. agatha was always more at home pouring over a spell book, or over a simmering cauldron. neither of you were particularly adept in the kitchen, which spelled disaster for you both many times over the centuries. but _agnes_ , however is an excellent chef, and you find yourself enjoying the meal she's prepared.

you're once again back on the couch, enjoying a cup of tea, when agnes looks at her watch in surprise, "well, look at the time!" she exclaims, "time sure does fly when you're in good company."

it was quite late; the sun had nearly set, bathing agnes' living room in deep purples and golds. just like your magic, you realize, contrasting hues blending together in harmony.

"oh, i should probably get going then," you'll say, regret lacing your tone. a full day had passed, and you've yet to make any progress in breaking the spell. you now know the intricacies of agnes' divorce, and the life story of every westview resident, but nothing about how to free your wife from her curse.

"stay!" she blurts, and then looks confused at the outburst as if she hadn't meant to say it. is this agatha, breaking through? you don't yet get your hopes up, but can't help but wonder if this is a _start_.

"i mean," she'll clarify, trying to regain her composure, "it's already quite late, and i wouldn't want you to walk all the way home in the dark. i have a spare room, and i wouldn't mind the company." she holds your gaze, and her eyes say _staystaystay_ and _pleasedontleavemealone_.

"that's very kind of you to offer, agnes. i'd love to stay."

her smile is more genuine than you've ever seen it, and as she grasps your hand in hers, you can't help but smile back. she leads you upstairs and to the spare room without letting go of your hand, not that you're complaining.

"now, i'm just across the hall in case you need anything. sweet dreams, sugarplum." with an exaggerated wink, she waves at you before shutting her bedroom door.

you have no intention of sleeping, at least not yet. returning to the spare room, you wait until the movement from agnes' room ceases, and the house falls silent. creeping down the hall, you find yourself in the living room once again. now, if you were a witch trying to hide your spell books, where would you keep them? because you know your wife, and because she's predictable, you search for a hidden door. _ah, there it is. **the** **basement**_ **.**

as you descend the stairs, a chill begins to seep into your bones, and you feel a familiar pricking upon your skin. _magic_ : you can taste it on the tip of your tongue. you stand in the basement, taking in the vines creeping along the walls and the ruins lining the ceiling, and fight the urge to laugh. agatha always _did_ have a flair for the dramatic, and this _certainly_ fit the stereotype of a witch's bewitched lair.

shelves of spell books line the walls, and sit in piles on the stone floor. you run your fingers along the spines, searching for anything you could use to help her. _herbology for herbalists_ , _no. rudimentary runes, no. most potent potions_ , _definitely not._ and – there, _an advanced guide to spellbreaking_. you pull the book off the shelf and tuck it underneath your arm. you've read this one before, it's not the _best_ spell book, but at least it's something. you **doubt** you'll be able to find exactly what you need, but it might be able to give you an idea of where to start.

turning toward the staircase, you're about to head upstairs when you hear a peculiar noise. looking around for the culprit, your fingertips alight with gold, and you wait in silence. moments pass, before you feel something tugging at the hem of your pajama pants. looking down, your heart soars when you see him. "aureum!" you exclaim, drawing the rabbit into your arms.

holding your wife's familiar in your arms, you feel more _complete_ than you have since arriving in westview. a witch's familiar was the reflection of her soul in animal form, helping to guide and protect the witch from harm. _much good it did agatha,_ you'll think ruefully. but you can't bring yourself to be mad at the familiar, for you can _feel_ the traces of her magic in him as you run your hand along the rabbit's spine, and it brings you as much comfort as it does sorrow.

"i don't know what to do, aureum. i have to help her, but i don't know where to start, or what _really_ happened to her. i've tried to look into her mind, but all i get is _television static_ , and i can't feel her." you can feel the tears that you've spent so long pushing back _finally_ spring to your eyes, and the familiar burrows further into your arms, trying to silently comfort you the best he can. you sniffle, trying to reign in your emotions. it's not productive for you to be sitting in the basement crying, you need to do something _useful_ for the goddess' sake.

suddenly, the familiar strains against you, and you let him jump from your arms. he hops toward an altar, upon which there is a display of sorts, where a book _should_ rest. you can feel the dark magic emanating from the space; like a black hole, it draws you in, closer and closer and closer. you're certain that you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from moving toward it even if you'd wanted to.

you lay a cautious hand on the altar, and are instantly transported into what looks like a memory, or an imprint of the past. you can see agatha, reading from the book ( _the darkhold,_ you can recognize it now), telling the legend of the scarlet witch to a red haired woman in sweatpants. the vision changes, and you can see that same redhaired woman arrive in the basement. she's changed her outfit, clad in scarlet and wearing a crown of sorts. chaos magic practically rolls off her in waves, and you know that this is _her_ , the prophesized scarlet witch. she hesitates for a moment before grabbing the darkhold, and disappearing in a haze of scarlet mist. you _also_ know, as intuitively as you know your own name, that it is the witch that has cursed your agatha. but what you can't understand (what the dark magic refuses to show you) is why? what happened between those two?

pulled back to the present with a gasp, the book falls to the floor and you begin to feel dizzy. something terrible has happened in westview (beyond what has befallen agatha) and you're only starting to put the pieces together. you find yourself wishing for the darkhold; you _know_ that cursed tome would have all the answers. but all you have is that basic spellbook, and you pick it up off the ground with a sigh. it'll have to do for now.

gathering the familiar back in your arms, you hold him close. he's the only reminder of home, the only comfort you have in this strange town, and your only remaining link to agatha's magic. heading back up the stairs, you stop at the second-floor landing, hearing a strange sound emanating from ~~agatha~~ agnes' bedroom. quietly approaching the bedroom door, you can now hear agnes crying out, muttering in her sleep. her mumbled words are muffled by the door, but you can clearly hear her say your name, followed by an anguished _no_. you want nothing more than to burst into the room and take her into your arms, but _know_ you can't. not yet.

you settle for knocking lightly on the door, trying to gently wake agnes from her slumber.

"agnes? is everything alright in there?" nearly instantly, her cries cease, and you can hear movement in the room. the door creaks open, and agnes appears, looking a little bit worse for wear. her eyes shine with unshed tears, and there's a tightness in her features – as if her mask of perfection and contentment is slipping.

"yeah," and she sounds absolutely exhausted, "i'm fine, hon, just had a bit of a bad dream," she tries to force that smile, but it comes out as more of a grimace. she does brighten, however, when she sees the rabbit. "i see you've found señor scratchy roaming around. and would you look at that, he likes you. he's always been a good judge of character, that one."

 _really_ , you think to yourself with a scoff, _señor scratchy?_ far from a dignified name for a witch's familiar, and you just _know_ he's offended by the moniker.

"are you sure you're alright ~~ath~~ agnes," you nearly slip up by using her nickname, but if she notices, she doesn't say anything. "i'm no stranger to nightmares myself, so i'm here for you if you want to talk?"

for a moment, it looks like she wants to agree, but then she shakes her head, "thank you, but i'll be fine. i've been having those dreams for, gosh, longer than i can remember! at least i don't wake up screaming anymore which is really all i can ask for!" she laughs quietly to herself, as if she didn't just say one of the most alarming things you'd heard all day.

your heart breaks over and over again for this woman, standing in the doorway in a nightdress your agatha wouldn't be caught dead in. you want so badly to kiss the sadness away, to hold her in your arms until she falls asleep. but you don’t. instead, you hand the familiar back to his witch; if you can't console her, then he will.

"alright then. well, goodnight, agnes." you don't want to leave, to be the first one to turn away. blue eyes meet brown, and you're certain that you could drown in her gaze forever.

"goodnight, theodora." voice soft devoid of her usual pep, she'll smile at you sadly, holding on to aureum like he's the only thing keeping her grounded. 

the door closes and you sigh wearily, feeling every one of your three hundred and eighty years. pressing an open palm against the door, your fingertips glow golden and you mutter an incantation. the spell wouldn't stop the nightmares, but it would hopefully make then less terrifying.

_i love you, atha. sleep well._

making your way back to the guest room, you sink onto the bed, leaning against the headboard and opening the spellbook. you can feel exhaustion pulling at your limbs, but you force yourself to focus on the tome there's not a moment to spare, you can't let agatha remained trapped a moment longer. the tortured look in her eyes _haunts_ you, and spurs you on to keep reading, to keep searching for something that could help her. the longer you read, the more the words on the page, and the heavier your eyelids become. one moment you're struggling to understand a possession incantation, and the next you've fallen asleep, spellbook resting on your chest.

and as you sleep, _you dream._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that’s chapter three! a few notes: 
> 
> i’ve modeled my understanding of familiars around lore from chilling adventures of sabrina and his dark materials. a familiar is a creature that shares a witch’s soul and part of her magic, and is tasked with protecting and aiding the witch with her magic. they assume the animal form that is most befitting for their witch. 
> 
> also fun fact! aureum means golden in latin, and agatha chose that name because she’s a simp for her wife and her pretty gold magic.


	4. these dreams go on when i close my eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> she'll murmur, "good girl, i'm so proud of you," and her voice sends shivers down your spine. her hands travel to your waist, and she pulls you even closer. before she can do anything else, you're both startled by a voice from the depths of the forest.

you awaken with the sunrise, its rays warming your skin as you bask in its glow. you're tempted to remain in bed, to allow yourself a few more minutes wrapped up in the arms of your love. but you have a morning spellcasting lesson and you know that the priestesses will be disappointed if you’re late. _again._

with a murmur of displeasure, you pull back the woolen blankets, the cool salem air hitting your bare legs. your hand glows blue, and the fireplace is lit, wooden logs crackling merrily. trudging over to the water basin, you splash your face and attempt to comb through your hair with your fingers. distracted as you are with your morning routine, you don't notice the witch creeping up behind you until arms wrap around your waist and a pair of lips press to your neck.

"good morning, sunshine," agatha purrs in your ear.

"morning, love," you reply, turning in her arms and leaning up to kiss her, "you're up early."

she rolls her eyes, a pout tugging at the corner of her lips, " _i know_. i need to get home before mother awakens and discovers i've snuck out again." but she makes no effort to move from your embrace, resting her chin on your shoulder and breathing a deep sigh of contentment.

you stay like this for a few moments, listening to the sound of each other's breathing and the crackle of the fire and the call of the sparrows. reluctantly, she pulls away, blue eyes alight with that mischievous look you know so well. she's planned something, and knowing you, you're going to go along with it without question.

"meet me in the field at dusk, i've discovered a new spell i want to show you." taking your face in her hands, she presses a quick kiss to your lips, before turning and grabbing her cloak, rushing out the door in just her nightgown.

you shake your head, a fond smile playing on your features. that was the witch you'd fallen for, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

/

the day passes slowly, as if chronos himself has cursed time itself to move at half speed. you study your runes listlessly, copying the same symbols over and over again without paying much attention. you barely pay attention during the coven meeting, half-listening as one of the coven elders complains about something or other.

at long last, the sun begins to set, bathing the village in purples and golds. grabbing your cloak from your cottage, you walk as nonchalantly as you can to the edge of the forest, before snapping your fingers and materializing in the garden. she's waiting for you when you get there, sitting among the wildflowers, listlessly picking petals off the stem. underneath the light of the full moon, her skin _glows_ , and she looks almost ethereal – the goddess selene come to earth.

she looks up when you approach, breathing an exaggerated sigh of exasperation "there you are! i was beginning to think you had forgotten about me." she's joking, but you can see the genuine concern behind those eyes of hers, as if a part of her believes that you would truly leave her waiting all alone.

"i would never forget about you," you say, walking up to her, "you are _unforgettable_ , you know that?" you hold out a hand to help her to her feet, but she tugs at your arm instead, pulling you down with her. you land on top of her, your hair forming a curtain around you, shutting out the world.

_"hi"_

**"hi"**

just as you're about to bring your lips to hers, she pushes you off her and you land in the grass with a huff, blowing an errant strand of hair out of your face.

"we do not have much time – i stole this book from the archives, and my mother _cannot_ know that we have it." agatha pulls the book from her satchel, and you feel the dark magic emanating from the tome. it practically radiates power, drawing you in, whispering your greatest desires somewhere deep within your heart. you shake your head to rid yourself of the feeling, and focus your attention back to agatha.

agatha grins, something almost feral in her smile, and turns to a bookmarked page. "a simple draining spell," she shows you the text, "taking the life force of another and transferring it to yourself. why my mother thinks this is knowledge worth hiding from the coven, i will never know." she frowns at the book in displeasure, as if all the answers to her problems could be found within its pages.

she picks a flower from the field and offers it to you – but before you can take it, it withers in her hand. she laughs then, violet eyes glowing proudly. a few murmured words and the flower blooms back to life, bursting with vitality. she tucks the flower behind your ear, hand lingering for a moment, before picking another flower from the field and handing it to you.

"alright, now you try."

you hesitate; what seemed like second nature to agatha was always more difficult for you. but under her encouraging gaze, you repeat the incantation, and _nothing_ – not even a spark of magic. a look of frustration appear on your features, and you sigh in annoyance. of course, nothing would come easy to you, least of all the darker arts.

"i will never be as skilled as you – you have a gift, atha, one that i will never possess."

she doesn't respond but fixes you with a look of determination, and moves so she's standing behind you, with your back pressed against her front. she adjusts the position of your fingers, and you can feel her breath by your ear as she whispers, "close your eyes, and think of your intention. what do you _want_ to happen, and how are you going to make it a _reality_?"

and you do just that: picturing the flower wilting, leeched of its vitality. you murmur the words, feeling your fingers begin to tingle with familiar magic, and hear agatha's sharp intake of breath. opening your eyes, you can see the wilted flower tinged with a blue glow.

she'll murmur, "good girl, i'm so proud of you," and her voice sends shivers down your spine. her hands travel to your waist, and she pulls you even closer. before she can do anything else, you're both startled by a voice from the depths of the forest.

"by the goddess!" those words make you both freeze to the spot. agatha's mother, high priestess evanora harkness.

steps out of the shadows, lowering her hood and affixing you both with a glare that struck fear in both your hearts. you share a terrified look with agatha and move imperceptibly closer to her, taking your hand in hers.

"this is unforgivable; my own flesh and blood _stealing_ forbidden texts and practicing the darkest of magic. time and time again, have i not said that there is no place no place for such magic within our coven? i had expected this from you agatha, for you have always held wickedness inside you, girl. but theodora, we all had such _high hopes_ for you."

her mouth set in a firm line, you cannot see a hint of regret in evanora's eyes as she declares "you will be punished. let these two serve as an example to you all, sisters, of what happens when you dabble in the dark arts."

at her words, the other members of the coven step out of the forest. girls you had studied with and laughed with and called your sisters, grab you both by the arms, fingers digging into your skin. they drag you roughly through the forest, and you struggle in vain to break free.

arriving at the clearing, agatha is forced upon the stone dais, hands bound behind the post. you want nothing more than to go to her, to put yourself in her place and beg for her salvation, but you're held captive by hilda and zelda, two of your closest childhood friends. you three had grown up together, were nearly inseparable for the longest time, and now they were helping lead you to your death.

"zelda, please don't let the high priestess do this. you _know_ me, you **know** i wouldn't do anything that would harm the coven, _please_ just let me go. let _us_ go." she doesn't reply, only stares blankly ahead. your appeals to hilda fall on similarly unsympathetic ears, so you're left helpless, and can only watch agatha plead with her mother to spare her – to spare the both of you.

evanora remains unmoved, and the coven begins to chant the spell that would strip agatha of her magic, a process that would ultimately _kill_ her. in unison, they begin to blast her with streams of blue, and she starts to scream. you cry out for her, straining against your captors, kicking and twisting and doing everything in your power to break free.

suddenly, when you think all is lost, the blue tendrils of magic turn purple as agatha's own will begins to take over. she's no longer struggling nor screaming in pain, she looks _powerful_ and _vengeful_.

a chorus of choking sounds makes you turn in shock, and you look around at the others, watching as their faces wither as their magic and very life force is drained away. they struggle, but it's in vain. zelda turns to you, fear in her eyes, as her once beautiful features begin to wilt like the flowers in the field. you want to feel badly for her, but you're finding it difficult to feel pity for a witch who had taken part in your would-be execution. so you watch in detached curiosity as she struggles, before dropping to the floor alongside her sister, both withered husks.

the magic binding your hands fades away, and suddenly you're free. you try to take a step toward agatha, but you feel weaker, _tired_ , as if her magic has accidentally drained you too. your knees hit the forest floor and you fall on your side, unable to rise again. 

so you can only watch (helpless once again) as agatha battles her mother, purple and blue flashing in the darkness. your vision fading, you can faintly see evanora fall to the ground, no doubt meeting the same fate as the rest of the coven.

and it’s over.

and you’re _tired._

and so

**cold.**

_perhaps ... if you close your eyes for just a moment_

you sense her presence (you're always able to feel her, no matter where she is), and can feel her fall to her knees beside you. she pushes your hair back from your face, and presses a finger to your neck, as if searching for a sign of _life_. she's started crying (you can feel her tears falling in your hair) and you want to reassure her that you'll be fine, everything will be fine once you just take a little nap.

and then – her hands on the sides of your face, her lips to yours, and you're warm again.

you open your eyes, and violet hues meet _golden_.

/

a knock on the door startles you awake, and you're once again in agnes' guest room.

the hostess herself peaks her head in, "you alright, hun? sorry if i scared ya – i'm making pancakes for breakfast and was wondering if you'd want some?"

"sure, sure," you say absently, still caught up in the dream. it had felt so real, almost like you had relieved that fateful day, the day that had left you forever changed.

agnes gives you a warm smile, different than the ones you have seen before. it's more natural, less _plastic_ , you suppose. and just for a moment in that soft smile and those bright blue eyes, you can see a reflection of the girl she used to be, so full of life and excitement for your future together.

you try to match her expression, but yours is tinged with sadness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's chapter four! honestly i just want to thank everyone who has commented and left kudos, it means so much to me. i started writing this story as wish fulfillment for myself, and never really thought that so many people would enjoy it!
> 
> also in terms of update schedule ... there is no update schedule. i've been super busy lately, so i really just write whenever i have the chance. i've been really feeling this story though, so i'll try to post at least two chapters a week (hopefully).


End file.
